


Going Rogue

by BIFF1



Series: RAREPAIR WEEK 2K16 [1]
Category: The Flash (TV 2014)
Genre: Cunnilingus, F/M, I'm making it a thing, Kissing, New Years Eve party, Rarepair Week 2k16, Sexual Content, Smut, character driven smut, goldenvibe - Freeform, i'm so bad at tagging smut, is that a thing?, killerwave, super background Hartley/Axel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-03
Updated: 2016-01-03
Packaged: 2018-05-11 07:11:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,151
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5617894
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BIFF1/pseuds/BIFF1
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"My room is upstairs. Third on the right." He tells her voice low and quiet between them. It's a rumble of sound in her chest and she must have had too much to drink because it doesn't sound like a terrible idea.</p><p>Caitlin ends up at a Rogue New Years Party and Mick is more than accommodating.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Going Rogue

Barry and Cisco talk about all the parties they've been invited too.

 

 

Barry has three tonight he wants to hit. The precinct, one at Oliver Queen's house (read: mansion) and one Iris has invited him too somewhere downtown, that Linda invited her too.

 

 

Cisco only has two. His family is having a get together. He won't be going, she doesn't even need to look at his face to know he won't be going no matter how much better things have gotten between him and his brother. The second is a mystery party he probably won't go to anyway.

 

 

Some house party near the edge of town. He doesn't go into details and carefully constructs a boring enough lie (if Cisco thinks he can lie to her he is sorely mistaken), so that Barry let's the party go.

 

 

"What about you?" Cisco asks nudging her in the side.

 

 

Her smile is thin and her tone all together too cold when she replies, "None."

 

 

"What?!"

 

 

Both Barry and Cisco are just outraged enough by her lack of social life that it almost feels like they are actually surprised.

 

 

She remembers having a social life before the explosion. Ronnie had always been the one to make sure she spent time away from her work, always the one to be the social buffer. Without him... Well it had taken all of one conversation about how she was standing by Wells for all her friendships to dry up save for Cisco.

 

 

"How bout you and me stay in tonight? Drink fancy champaign, eat pizza rolls and watch Back to the Future until its the new year?" Cisco nudges her chair with his foot, spinning her a little and with a laboured sigh that is all show she relents.

 

 

"Fine... I'll bring the champaign, last time you were in charge of alcohol we ended up with nothing but cinnamon schnapps." She scrunches her nose in distaste. She can't even smell cinnamon without feeling nauseous.  
_

 

 

She brings two bottles of the best champaign she could afford. It's mid grade at best and she takes a little joy in knowing just how appalled her mother would be. Especially with the pairing.

 

 

She dresses up, a blue dress with sparkles and her hair all done up, make up on. Cisco throws on a blazer because it wasn't fair that she didn't tell him they were dressing up.

 

 

Fingering the sparkling hem of the dress as she leans forward to pop another pizza roll into her mouth she wonders when the last time she got to dress up even was. She hadn't really dressed up for her wedding so it was probably drunken karaoke with Barry.

 

 

Cisco is a constant commentary and she finds herself smiling brightly and laughing at his jokes, the bubbles going to her head.

 

 

They finish two movies but before Cisco can start the third his phone goes off.

 

 

She leans over and finds the id is blocked and Cisco gets a little red in the face as he answers the phone.

 

 

"Hey..."

 

 

She can hear a blast of noise on the other end. A party and someone pouting on the other end.

 

 

She shifts next to him, turning to watch him, chin on her hands watching carefully.

 

 

"Yeah I know I'm not there. I'm watching movies with Caitlin." Cisco listens to the person on the other end talk, the flush in his cheeks getting brighter and hotter, she's sure can feel the heat from his face from her end of the couch, "I'm not going to leave her here... She's not going to want to go to the party-"

 

 

"Party? I'll go to a party." Caitlin tries to grab the phone from his hand but he bats her away easily.

 

 

"No Cait you're not going to- of course I want to kiss you at..." She watches him swallow hard and with difficulty. He was obviously going to abandon her the moment he was in the same room as this girl.

 

 

New people though... She had had most of her bottle of champaign and a party was sounding like a great idea. Some place people didn't know her, didn't know her sad widow story. It would be nice for once.

 

 

She sends her fist into Cisco's side and snatches the phone.

 

 

"We'll be there." She hangs up quickly before Cisco can think of an excuse. She stands up, her legs feel thick and tosses the phone at her friend, "All dressed up and somewhere to go." She smiles brightly and Cisco looks nervous but gets up, calling a cab and shaking his head.

 

 

"You have cab money?" He asks and she taps her cleavage and Cisco seems to accept that as an answer. She had a couple of twenties stuffed in her bra. She wasn't expecting anyone else to get their hands in there anyway. It was a safe place to keep money.

 

 

She drains her bottle and snags the other as they leave Cisco's apartment and take the cab to the edge of town, not quite the edge but still.

_

Cisco pays the cab driver and they stumble a little drunkenly up the side walk to the house. There is an obvious house party happening in there. The thump of too much bass rattling in her chest. There are motorcycles in the front drive, a sports car and a black sedan.

 

 

"Are there bullet holes in that car?" She asks a little sloppily pointing at the back of a black continental.

 

 

Cisco steers her away from the car like he's not even interested.

 

 

He opens the door without knocking.

 

 

"Cisco!" Someone yells from in the house and she searches the slight crowd to find Lisa Snart, hair blonder than usual, her arms up excited, "My darling!" She pushes through the people and wraps her arms around Cisco.

 

 

"Snart..." The name is as strict and unhappy as her champaign soaked mind can manage. She hadn't... Well she just hadn't expected _this_ and it takes away some of the happy buzz and replaces it with something cranky and altogether not fun.

 

 

She narrows her eyes and searches the house.

 

 

Mark Mardon is laughing loudly in what she believes to be the kitchen, she's pretty sure its snowing in there.

 

 

LaShawna is appearing and disappearing all over the place almost in time with the music.

 

 

The Trickster (the junior), is dancing in the living room his arms wrapped tightly around...

 

 

"Is that Hartley?" She asks astonished because a laugh, a decidedly uncruel and natural laugh, falls from the man and she had never ever heard that noise before in all the years they had known each other.

 

 

"Hart?" Lisa asks following the point of her finger, "Oh yeah, Axel convinced him to come. I think he was going to spend the night watching movies." She scoffs and both Cisco and her own stance gets very defensive.

 

 

Lisa just laughs warmly as if nothing in the world mattered as long as Cisco was in her arms. She's honestly a little jealous, she hasn't felt like that in ages.

 

 

She needs a drink.

 

 

_She needs all of the drinks._

 

 

This is a Rogue party. _God was Cold here?_ She narrowed her eyes again as if it somehow helped her eyesight and searches the crowd of people.

 

 

"Lenny isn't here if that's what you're worried about." Lisa supplies, her fingers already threading through Cisco's hair, "He'd never let us have a party like this, stick in the mud."

 

 

She relaxes a little bit but still needs a drink.

 

 

Caitlin turns to see if Cisco will join her to get a drink but Lisa is already pulling him upstairs (he isn't putting up much of a fight. Jerk). She scrunches up her face and ventures to the kitchen herself.  
_

 

 

She feels so exposed in this Rogue safe house, she knows at least three of the rogues know she works with The Flash. She stands in a corner of the living room drinking champagne (a higher quality than what she could ever afford and probably purchased with stolen money) wondering how long it will take to get in a confrontation with one of them.

 

 

Mardon would definitely be the worst physically, Hartley the worst emotionally but none of them seem to have time for anything more than a heated glare before turning their attention back to more fun endeavours.

 

 

It really is something to see Hartley smile properly, a smile brought out by proper happiness and not his superiority complex. She didn't like The Trickster, he was cruel and chaotic but something about the way he held onto Hartley made her understand his purpose.

 

 

Hartley had never been a good man before but he had been right about Wells so maybe he deserved a little happiness.

 

 

She keeps drinking, swaying a little with the music wondering if she can last the whole party, or if she should just drink them out of fancy alcohol and take a cab home. Wondering about how wasted her outfit was on these delinquents.

 

 

"It is a nice dress."

 

 

"I know."

 

 

"You didn't have to dress up for this you know."

 

 

"I didn't know I was coming-" she turns to look at the person talking to her and falters because, " _fuck_. Heatwave." She meant to say that internally but he smiles at her words.

 

 

He's standing close to her and she wonders how long he's been standing there listening to her quietly complain about life, about Hartley and his new stupid boyfriend and Cisco and his villainous side piece and whether or not Lisa counted as a side piece if there wasn't really a 'front piece'.

 

 

"What do you want..." She asks grip on the champaign bottle white knuckle and she wonders if he would even feel it if she slammed it across his face.

 

 

He reaches out a hand, slowly grazing across her hip, hiking the dress up a little bit as the sequins catch on calloused fingers. There is something burning in the way he looks at her that she doesn't understand.

 

 

She hasn't seen a look like that in a long time... It hitches her breath as he steps into her, her free arm raises and grabs a fist full of his sleeve but she notices through the fog of bubbles she's made of her head that she doesn't make to stop him.

 

 

A countdown starts blaring around them.

 

 

10!

 

 

9!

 

 

8!

 

 

He leans into her, his hand rounding her hips, settling in the small of her back, God he was a million degrees. Was that healthy? Maybe he should see a doctor about that.

 

 

She was a doctor.

 

 

Maybe he should see her...

 

 

6!

 

 

His mouth is close to hers, "I hear you're made of ice." He whispers mouth moving so close to hers that his lips brush hers as he talks, "I want you to burn."

 

 

"How do you plan to do that?" She asks breathlessly because his free hand comes up to push her hair away from her face, his other hand pulling her in desperately close.

 

 

She has a pretty good feeling she knows exactly how he wants her to burn. She can feel it in the way he looks at her, the way he talks and against her thigh.

 

 

4!

 

 

3!

 

 

2!

 

 

1!

 

 

Happy New Year!

 

 

The party around them seems to explode with good tidings and confetti and his mouth crashes against hers, hands holding her close, his skin so so hot and she let's herself kiss him back. Battling with him, his tongue and teeth and lips hard and soft and hot against her own, biting cruel mouth.

 

 

Her hands grip his shirt, keeping him damningly close, the mostly empty bottle crashing to the floor splashing up her leg.

 

 

Ronnie used to say that she kissed like she was conquering something, like she was winning a war and he had always melted a little into her but Heatwave doesn't.

 

 

He's just as cruel, his fingers digging into her skin, pulling her closer, rocking ever so slightly against her and it's this strangely powerful feeling when she hooks her fingers into the loops of his jeans and pulls him closer, harder against her and a soft moan almost lost to her lips and the back of his throat hits her ears.

 

 

They pull away and he looks like a beautiful mess. His shirt and pants all off kilter, his mouth red, his eyes blown out.

 

 

"My room is upstairs. Third on the right." He tells her voice low and quiet between them. It's a rumble of sound in her chest and she must have had too much to drink because it doesn't sound like a terrible idea.

 

 

He pulls away, turning and headed for the stairs. She watches him walk upstairs suddenly so cold. It actually sounds like a pretty great idea. She was _just_ drunk enough now to be able to blame the champaign if anyone found out, no one in this room cared what she did, and God it felt like forever since someone had touched her.

 

 

She ached for it.

 

 

Scanning the room she sees that Cisco hasn't returned and Hartley is entirely too occupied on the dance floor to even throw a look in her direction.

 

 

Taking a steadying breath she crosses the room to the stairs.

 

 

One.

 

 

Two.

 

 

Three.

 

 

Third on the right. If this was some sort of cruel trick she had to say that Heatwave was an excellent actor then, because he had certainly felt committed.

 

 

She's feeling dangerously sober staring at the door knob of Heatwave's bedroom. She looks around the hall, no one is there.

 

 

No one would know unless she wanted them to know and it wasn't like Cisco could say anything about her going Rogue for the night.

 

 

She opens the door slowly and is pleased to find a bedroom actually on the other side.

 

 

"What are you doing?" He asks voice low and confused as he watches her eyeing the corners of the room for hidden villains.

 

 

"I just want to make sure this isn't an ambush." She tells him closing the door tightly behind her.

 

 

Heatwave is sitting on the edge of the bed, close to her, the room dark save for one dim lamp on the dresser sending a soft orange glow across his face.

 

 

"I don't really go in for tag teams the first go around Snow. Maybe next time if you ask nicely. Probably not, I get a little possessive."

 

 

_First go around?_

_Next time?!_

_Ask nicely?_

 

 

"What makes you think there will be another time." She asks, voice tight, strict, the bubbles and fun of the champaign are dimming in the light of what she's doing. This is going too slowly to be a drunken fun one night stand.

 

 

The slower they go the more purpose it gains.

 

 

He smirks and she wants to wipe it off his face.

 

 

"You don't really strike me as the one night stand type, Snow."

 

 

"You don't know me." She growls, an angry heat rising in her that's so uncommon it takes her a bit by surprise. She grabs a handful of her dress and starts to pull it up ready to angrily throw it across the room.

 

 

She gets about half way there, the sequins are getting stuck in her hair and she's hissing curse words into the fabric over her face.

 

 

"Stop moving Snow you're just making it worse." Heatwave sighs and she stills listening to him get off the bed and move to her. His hands burn hot against her skin, a quick brush against her naked hip before his hands are in her hair pulling carefully until finally her hair and her body are free of the dress.

 

 

He doesn't toss it across the room, just let's it pool at his side, slipping from his hand. He's staring at her with a heat in his eyes that feels consuming, like he would eat her alive, burn her alive was probably more accurate.

 

 

He wanted her to burn right.

 

 

"Fuck." He whispers, it's almost lost in the dull thumps of bass from the other side of the door but he doesn't move to touch her.

 

 

"Are you just going to stare?" She asks tempted to wrap her arms around herself.

 

 

"Its a damn good view Snow." He steps into her, hot hands burning and rough against her skin. Hands across her hips, down her thigh, ghosting across the front of boring cotton underwear, sending shivers through her body.

 

 

Her hands fist the fabric of his shirt, pulling him closer, closer, until he's pressing her up against the door running his hands heavily across her body, up too soft skin to cup her bra (boring light blue cotton. again. she is never getting drunk without fancy underwear again if she was going to start picking up strangers). She means to excuse her underwear but he's staring at her so intensely she's worried he might _actually_ set her on fire. Heatwave's thumb brushes across her, admiring the simple fabric, pressing into soft flesh, a smirk pulling across her face as skin hardens under his touch.

 

 

She hates that smirk.

 

 

That self satisfied thing.

 

 

She wants to rip it right off his face.

 

 

"Can't you do something more interesting with your mouth than smirk?" She almost growls, biting back a moan.

 

 

"How interesting?" He asks and its a low rumble so close to her skin as he leans into her, knocking her legs apart with a still clothed knee. The sound sends a shock of tightly coiled heat low, dangerously low, wonderfully low.

 

 

She is not drunk enough for this any more. She wants to not care about the mess he's making of her body with just heavy hands above cloth, his voice and the promise of his hot, wet mouth on her. Caitlin wants to lose herself in this, in intimate company she hasn't had in so long. She wants to lose everything, her control, her dignity, anything and everything standing in the way of a good time.

 

 

To his credit Heatwave seems to be a very good name for him. She feels like she's caught in one, too hot, it's getting harder to think straight, his mouth licking and biting at her skin, leaving marks she's sure. His knee is pressing up between her legs hard and she rolls into the feeling. It's slow, but heavy and hot and she needs more friction and his mouth and she doesn't even know any more.

 

 

If he really did want her to burn up he was doing a damn good job of it.

 

 

"Heatwave..." It comes out as a whisper, voice low and breathy, her hands pushing at his clothes, trying to get to damnable hot skin. Trying to push this, him, along.

 

 

He pulls away from her, his hot breath puffing against the swell of her breasts where he no doubt plans to leave _more_ marks on her skin, "Mick." He tells her.

 

 

"What?"

 

 

"Mick. If you're going to moan out my name like that, it's Mick." He doesn't wait to hear her argue that they should keep to less personal names before he focuses his hands on her back, on the clasp of her bra. It comes open easily in his hands and he pulls the thing off her.

 

 

She watches as sixty dollars flutters to the floor.

 

 

"Well that's never happened before."

 

 

"It's cab fare."

 

 

"Smart." He nods before he gather's her up in his arms and turning pushes her violently backward so that she falls hard onto the bed.

 

 

To say she's unhappy by the way he's chosen to get her to bed is putting it mildly. She glares at him and her imagination supplies frigid death scenes. Absolutely overkill for the action but something about him brings icy anger up from the depths of her. He's looking at her with this wild look now and starts pulling off his clothes, almost like he can't get them off fast enough.

 

 

"What are you thinking about?" He asks as he climbs onto the bed with her, pushing her slowly back into the bedding.

 

 

"Why?" She says instead of detailing icy death scenes for the man so obsessed with fire he might as well have been one. She's pretty sure it would kill the mood and it was pretty tentative as it was.

 

 

"Because you look fucking fantastic angry." He's above her, looking down, the back of one hand running delicately across the blooming bruises on her neck and chest. He's looming over her and the power in his frame is tangible, the muscles move under her gaze. Her eyes narrow at the untreated burns, how had he _still_ not gotten those treated?

 

 

She puts her hands on his shoulders and pushes him, not away, but down. There is a soft smothered laugh in the back of his throat but he gets the point turning his attention lower.

 

 

This was never going to happen again she reasoned, she could be as selfish as she dared. She would never really have to see him again after tonight and it was taking the bite of embarrassment out of _wanting_. It wasn't a trust thing it was a certain amount of anonymity to the act that drove her to not so much ask but demand to be treated to what she know knew he could do with his tongue.

 

 

He pulls at her underwear, pulling them awkwardly down her legs and off and holy shit she is laying on Heatwave's bed naked now only somewhat tipsy. It wouldn't be so bad if he hadn't paused to look at her, hands off, breath too far away to feel against her skin.

 

 

She gathers up all her strength, taps into the anger he pulls to the surface and pushes herself up onto her elbows, "Mick?" His voice is a harsh snap of sound in her mouth and it brings his eyes up away from wet, sensitive, _untouched_ skin to her eyes.

 

 

"You're impatient." He tells her voice slow and heavy and it washes over her and she flickers between anger and something all together more destructive, a pang of fondness at the soft smile on his face.

 

 

"Why do you keep stopping to stare?" She asks the alcohol holding onto her just enough to erase any filter her mouth normally had.

 

 

His eyes drop from her face, travel along the trail of bruises and bite marks he's made. It was frightening to think that no one else had ever paid so much attention to her body before, he drank in the sight of her like it kept him alive, it felt intimidating and powerful all at once and it intensified that fondness growing in her chest for him.

 

 

"Girls like you don't-"

 

 

"Girls like me?" She cuts off pushing up into the touch of his burning hand against her thigh, he smiles, pushing her leg gently wider.

 

 

"High class, good girls, pure as the driven Snow." He tells her his voice a low grumble and he punctuates her name with fingers sliding across and into her slick entrance.

 

 

The feeling sends a shock through her and she falls off her elbows, her gaze on the ceiling now instead of his face.

 

 

He's still talking as he works thick, too hot fingers into her.

 

 

She can't pull the words apart from one long string of sounds, her name, fuck, vulgar images, her name, cursing her out for being such a cold bitch and such a burning piece of- the last word disappears and she's not sure why until hot breath and a wet tongue are added to what he's doing.

 

 

She shudders, fingers clawing, pulling at the bedding, sounds falling past her lips that she prays are encouraging because forming words seems too hard as she rolls her hips up into his mouth.

 

 

Caitlin had never been particularly vocal when it came to this kind of thing. She's had all of three partners including Mick, it had always been a close to the ear, holding on tight, hot panting breath and soft moans kind of experience but he doesn't seem to feel satisfied with her sounds driving her roughly to some louder unchecked part of herself she isn't sure actually exists.

 

 

Not until Mick does something with a combination of tongue and fingers and teeth.

 

 

"Fuck." The word is loud and heavy in the air between them.

 

 

Mick pulls away and she shakes her head, "What's wrong." His voice is rough, low, and _concerned_ , red wet mouth, wet fingers against her leg.

 

 

She's trying to find words that aren't just _fuck_ but its difficult. That feeling was new, amazing and new.

 

 

"Do that again." She huffs out between panting breaths.

 

 

Mick smirks at her and she hates it a little less when his mouth is red and wet from her.

 

 

"This is another reason I think they'll be a next time." He tells her voice oozing confidence. Before she can tell him there won't be, that he better make this one count his fingers and mouth are back on her and it doesn't seem to matter any more.

 

 

He alternates between doing that thing she decides she loves and something more basic and warming. She can feel something happen and her legs pull in as if to try and keep him there forever. It's not something she has any control over and it frightens her.

 

 

She isn't used to losing control, even like this and her brain and body are battling to regain some semblance of cold and controlled but Mick's mouth is made out of magic and he won't let her.

 

 

The sound she makes she's sure he is disappointed in, its a strangled broken sound, low and unchecked, fingers tight in his blanket, mouth open, her hips twitching uncontrollably. The room is dim and she can see colours across the ceiling she knows aren't really there.

 

 

It takes a long moment, a short eternity of this feeling, unchecked, uncontrolled and burning up, panting trying to regain control of herself.

 

 

His tongue is still on her when the feeling melts into a strange baseline of warmth in her bones she never remembers being there before.

 

 

She reaches out and her hand claws against his shoulder, her mouth twists into a frown when her fingers run across untreated burns. It would be so easy for her to fix this. There are items in the kitchen she could use to treat it.

 

 

She doesn't get a chance to think too much about it though because Mick follows the pull of her hand up.  His legs between hers, his hips heavy on her own, body hard against wet over sensitive skin. There is still a layer of clothing between them and she wants it gone, she wants to make this warmth last as long as possible.

 

 

"You make good noises." He tells her, voice heavy and rough and she can feel a soft smile settle into her face.

 

 

"You are wearing too much."

 

 

Her voice is low, husky even, something she can't ever remember it being before. A smile pulls across his face, something oddly fond in his expression as he looks down at her. It's not as awkward as she would have imagined him throwing his underwear across the room, although it does hit the lamp and knock it over, a condom in his hand, foil discarded haphazardly onto the bed beside her hip.

 

 

She means to say something about the lamp, to have it fixed because its sending their shadows across the wall in a very intimate shadow play but without any for warning Mick pushes easily into her dripping oversensitive body.

 

 

Deep.

 

 

Her fingers dig into his shoulder blades, curling at the feeling.

 

 

A shuddering soft, _fuck_ , slips past her lips and the smile on Mick's face flickers bright as wild fire for a moment.

 

 

Deep and full and burning hot, his hips are pressed hard against her, she might bruise, her legs wrapping around him out of instinct alone to keep him close.

 

 

There is so much more instinct and heat in this then she's used to. She was used to being in control, on top, setting the pace the way she wanted, gentle touches and sweet words.

 

 

This.

 

 

This was so different she wasn't even sure it could count as the same act.

 

 

She rolls her hips up into him and it feels wonderful, his breath hitches above her, the sound of gripped bedding by her ear.

 

 

He pulls out, slow, painfully slow, it pulls a whine out of her throat that brings that wild fire bright smile back to his face, and she writhes under him.

 

 

Mick pulls way back, almost all the way out, leaning back on his knees looking down at her staring up at him. He has a hand splayed across her, and his eyes drag down her until they land on the connection between them.

 

 

She hates and loves this. It's both because he has this disbelieving hungry look to him, like he can't believe he's gotten this lucky. Mick pushes slowly back into her and she knows he's watching himself disappear into her, she feels exposed, raw, beyond naked but its pushed to the back of her mind in favour of the sensation of being filled again of him rubbing against nerves and tissue she knows the names for usually.

 

 

Caitlin feels like a mess of a person, dangerously sober now, the barest of buzzes left but burning under his touch. She reaches out for him, grasping at air, his name in her throat but won't push out in favour of soft panting and low moans.

 

 

He is almost instantly in her grip and she pulls him down to her, crashing her mouth against his, a mess of too hard pressure, teeth and tongues, thrusting up to meet him and devouring his moans.

 

 

He's faster now, her desperate, grabby, demanding hands having gotten the message of urgency across just fine. Mick is rough but not as rough as she had expected, his hands are mostly out of commission holding him up but his teeth and mouth are brutal against the sensitive skin of her neck and his hips crash into hers so hard she knows she'll bruise.

 

 

She holds him close to her with clawing nails he moans into and tight knees that climb higher and higher up his sides as time goes on.

 

 

It's an uneven rhythm, it hard to match but he seems to like it best when she can't get control of the situation, when she moans and whines in his ears soft swear words on her tongue every so often that seem to drive him into an even more chaotic pace.

 

 

Caitlin figures that having sex with Mick was like the personification of fire. It was chaotic and burning and threatened to consume her entirely.

 

 

She holds out as long as she can, trying to keep the thrumming feelings, the heavy hot build up in her body going as long as possible but with the bite of his teeth and the harsh slam of his hips, the feel of him painfully deep inside she loses it.

 

 

She hadn't had control for a while and the overwhelming feelings that flood her in that moment drive that home. He smells of sweat and fire, his skin tastes of salt and smoke and he feels heavy and burning and _fuck_.

 

 

She feels him all along her body, pressed tight, his arm under her now. It doesn't feel far away or dreamy or anything romantic like that.

 

 

It feels devastatingly real. More real than anything else has felt in a long time.

 

 

Her nails bite into skin and the scent of blood adds to the mix, she doesn't scream or moan out his name, its just a low broken sound that pushes past her teeth.

 

 

This was too real and too good to wreck with some over dramatic display for his benefit. What did she care about how he felt now that she was so wonderfully finished.

 

 

He's still moving in her, erratic as her body clenches and twitches and loses control of itself. He holds onto her painfully tight and she can feel him finish, everything in an oddly sharp focus.

 

 

He doesn't finish with a roar of noise either, no names ripped from his throat, just holding her so so tight and heavy breathing broken up by a low satisfied moan of noise.

 

 

He rests his head against her shoulder, his mouth turned against her neck, soft, wet, fluttering kisses against her shockingly overheated skin.

 

 

They lay like that for a long moment and its the calm after a storm. She doesn't really want it to stop but she has a cramp in her leg.

 

 

She taps him on the side and he pulls out and rolls away.

 

 

She glances down, she feels sticky and wet but everything seems to be in order. She is breathing heavily and her body feels thick, heavy.

 

 

She doesn't want to move. Possibly ever again.

 

 

She closes her eyes for a moment. The weight of what she's done settles in her and she honestly doesn't mind as much as she maybe should.

 

 

Her body is burning up still, heavy, hot, like he had set her on fire. The bed shifts and she opens her eyes to watch Mick get up from the bed, drop something into a garbage can and walk across the room to right the lamp.

 

 

He's pulling on fresh underwear and she sits up suddenly very aware that she was naked and the act was over.

 

 

Did she need to leave?

 

 

He turns to look at her, "You can stay the night." He tells her as if with just one look he knew exactly what she was thinking. It couldn't have been hard to figure out in this instance. He tosses a swearer at her, thin, well used and singed at the cuffs. Red isn't really her color but she pulls it on anyway, "I'll set an alarm."

 

 

"Alarm?"

 

 

"You don't want to be here when Len gets back. He's going to be in pissy enough mood since Lisa threw a party."

 

 

"Oh."

 

 

He narrows his eyes at her pulling the blankets back and forcing her to move for a moment before she can get back in the bed.

 

 

He looks at her long and hard, sitting in the bed next to her, when she narrows her eyes to snap a self conscious response he leans forward, hand on her neck and kisses her soundly.

 

 

That's it.

 

 

He turns off the lamp by some unseen switch and settles down into the bed. Mick reaches out across the bed and pulls her down close.

 

 

"Come here Snow." His voice low and tired vibrating against rapidly cooling skin.

 

 

"Caitlin."

 

 

She can feel him smile against her skin like she just proved him right somehow. She doesn't know what he thinks he's right about but he falls asleep before she has a chance to even ask.

 

_ 

She can't sleep. His skin against hers is too hot and she can feel those damn untreated burns against her...

 

 

Caitlin unhooks herself from Mick's limbs, she doesn't bother being careful about it Mick sleeps like the dead.

 

 

She treats his burns with a concoction made from what's on hand and wraps him in bandages with only the slightest of murmuring on his part. He doesn't even wake up at the sound of the alarm hours later.  
_

 

 

"I see I don't need to ask if you got home all right then." Cisco's voice is soft, raybans on, large energy drink in his hand and bruises and love bites all up his neck.

 

 

She wonders if all the Rogues are so possessive and took that much joy in marking partners because she knows her own skin is bruised and tender. There are marks on her legs as well.

 

 

"What?" She had been surprised she hadn't been caught leaving the house that morning but all the doors had still been tightly closed. He just points at her outfit.

 

 

She looks down, past her large coffee, at her clothes. She is wearing last night's dress and shoes and Mick's sweater thrown over top, comfortable and loose. In the light of the morning she had found the crest of the Central City Fire Department and the large white CCFD letters on the back of the sweater.

 

 

"Trust you to go to a party filled with super villains and end up going home with a fireman." Cisco laughs as much as his hangover will allow before sitting down at the desk.

 

 

It wasn't quite right but it wasn't really wrong either.

 

 

She grabs her research and sits down next to him ignoring his pointed looks at the bruises and bite marks on her neck, that disappear under her clothes.

 

 

Her hips ached, her whole body sore in a strange satisfied way, finger marks on her legs, bite marks trailing down her body like some bizarre treasure map.

 

 

Later when Cisco and Barry try to get a name out of her for her fireman she asks instead how long Lisa has been Cisco's girlfriend. All focus wonderfully shifts away from her and her fire man.  
_

 

 

It's not until several weeks later that it comes up again but unfortunately it's not Cisco or Barry that brings it up.

 

 

She's in the cortex monitoring Barry's vitals as he battles with Heatwave and Captain Cold when it happens.

 

 

'Tell her I want my sweater back.' Mick's voice seems to echo in the room as she looks back shocked at Cisco who is watching security footage of the fight.

 

 

"What..." She rolls her chair quickly across the room to slam into the side of Cisco to stare at the image of the fight, stalled, as Mick repeats himself.

 

 

'Tell Caitlin, I want my sweater back.'

 

 

Cisco looks at her, wide eyed, mouth slack.

 

 

"Caitlin?"

 

 

"I... I was lonely. You left me at that party all alone."

 

 

"So you and Heatwave?" He stabs a finger at the monitor.

 

 

"I was drunk." She tells him quickly even though she hadn't really been drunk enough to use that excuse when it had actually come down to it.

 

 

"Caitlin Snow." Cisco sounds scandalised until Barry's voice comes over the coms.

 

 

'Uh... What's he talking about Cait?'

 

 

She grabs the mic, "Tell him its not happening again."

 

 

'Again?' Barry's voice does this scandalised squeak that she can see causes Mick and Cold to laugh a little, 'Oh my God you're the fireman from new years.' He directs that at Mick and even from the grainy footage she can see he's smirking.

 

 

That same stupid smirk she hates, it heats her blood up and she wants to wipe it away all over again.

 

 

'Yeah, I don't appreciate her playing nurse while I was asleep either.'

 

 

Cisco raises an eyebrow.

 

 

"I may have treated his burns while he was asleep after ward. It was unsanitary." She waves it away staring at his image in the screen.

 

 

'However if she wants to play doctor tonight I'll meet her at that bar she likes.' He seems to make it purposefully vague but she's pretty sure he must mean The Bear and Kilt. It's only a couple blocks from her apartment. Not really out of the way at all.

 

 

Not that she's thinking of going at all.

 

 

Cold breaks her train of thought, the heist started back up.

 

 

They get away.

 

 

It's probably her fault, Barry had been winning until Mick had thrown him for a loop by bringing up what had happened between them.

 

 

"I'm sorry Barry." She tells him when he gets back for the night.

 

 

He doesn't blame her, he just wants to know what had happened on new years.

 

 

"He's a good kisser." She confesses. He was exceedingly good with his mouth, she had had dreams about it. She explains that she had been drunk, alone and surrounded by people having a great time. About how lonely she had been since Ronnie, how he had kissed her at midnight and she had just gone with it because of a lot of reasons.

 

 

It was never supposed to come up again, it was never supposed to happen again, it was never supposed to effect anything.

 

 

Barry and Cisco are both very understanding. They are making up a list of potential non felons that she could date as she excuses herself to go home.

 

 

Because she's going home.

 

 

Certainly not the the Bear and Kilt that's for sure.  
_

 

 

"This doesn't mean anything." She tells Mick, voice hard, over her pint glass at the Bear and Kilt.

 

 

"Sure it doesn't."

 

 

That smirk again. Like he knew something she didn't. She hated that smirk so much.

 

 

He pays for her beer but when he makes to order something she shakes her head, "There's beer at my apartment." She tells him walking away from the bar and out into the cool night.

 

 

Mick, smiling, falls into step beside her, his heat radiating out.

 

 

"This doesn't mean anything." She tells him again as she unlocks her apartment door.

 

 

"Sure, Snow."

 

 

"Caitlin." She tells him firmly and he smiles, bright like wild fire, as she grabs his hand and pulls him through the apartment to her bedroom. She pushes him down onto the bed and starts to undress, "The bruises just faded you know."

 

 

He leans back watching her, "I figured. I don't really want my sweater back Caitlin."

 

 

"Well what do you want?" She huffs sure this is some sort of punishment for treating his burns.

 

 

He laughs a little, low and sincere and reaches out to grab her. The sound makes that fondness growing in her chest a little bigger and a little closer to the surface.

 

 

"I'm not really the one night stand type either Snow."

 

 

"Caitlin." She growls a little and he pulls her close and crashes their mouths together. She'll figure out what he wants from her later, if it isn't his sweater and it isn't information she can't imagine what it could possibly be.

 

 

He pulls his mouth away from hers and starts in biting and licking at her skin.

 

 

She pushes him away.

 

 

"What?"

 

 

"Below the neckline. I don't want to have to explain this tomorrow."

 

 

"You'll have to explain to them someday." He tells her but complies with moving lower, "If not tomorrow then some other night."

 

 

"There isn't going to be another night, Mick." She tells him firmly but when he looks up at her he's smiling in that soft wonderful way that she likes. He doesn't believe her which is going to be troublesome later but she finds she doesn't mind nearly as much as she should.

 

 

Maybe she doesn't really believe it either.


End file.
